


Enchanted

by flippantninny



Series: Bethyl Week [4]
Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-13 21:26:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2165796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flippantninny/pseuds/flippantninny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bethyl Week Day Four</p>
<p>Or that one time I wrote casket smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enchanted

**Author's Note:**

> For day four of Bethyl Week.

When Daryl first heard the piano his immediate reaction was annoyance. He was out there, setting traps for walkers, trying to keep them safe, keep her safe, and she was making unnecessary noise like some kind of invitation to all the walkers, a message that ‘we’re here, come get us’. He rounded the corner, ready to shout, to yell about carelessness and stupidity and pointless risk, but as soon as he saw her he stopped, pausing in the doorway. The anger left him faster than he could comprehend and just like that he was struck by the sight of Beth Greene playing the piano, the piano chords complementing her voice as they filled the room.

It had been happening a lot recently, Beth doing something that evoked anger in him, which somehow managed to subside faster than it had appeared and transform into awe or appreciation or admiration. Ever since they burnt down the shack, it was like something in him had shifted. Something had caused everything that had once annoyed him about her to enchant him instead.

He remembered the first time he saw her singing. Everyone had been crowded round the fire and Maggie started singing along too and everyone looked content. And he had thought it was dumb. Singing would only attract walkers, and it didn’t make anyone happy really, maybe gave the illusion of it for a few minutes, but it served no practical purpose. Now, if he could go back and relive that moment, he might think it beautiful.

He realised he was staring. That was a thing he was noticing these days too, his eyes lingering on the her when they shouldn’t be. He would catch himself watching her holding his bow and setting up camp and falling asleep. Most of the time it was innocent, but he would be lying if he said he hadn’t been seeing her in a new light. No longer Beth the farmer’s daughter, the girl who took care of Judith and sang pretty songs, but Beth the woman. Staring at her and thinking these thoughts was becoming a habit he didn’t think he could break.

But he had to break this moment because there was no way he could stand it if she were to turn around and notice him. Staring was one thing, getting caught was entirely another.

So he backed up a couple of steps, cleared his throat, and walked into the room, as though he hadn’t even noticed her playing.

"Place is nailed up tight," he assured her, "only way in ‘s through the front door," Christ, when had his voice gotten so soft?

"What’re you doing?" she asked, as he lifted himself onto the edge of the casket, spinning his legs so he could lie back in it.

 ”This’s the comfiest bed I’ve had in years,” he replied. Honestly it was probably the comfiest bed he ever had. Definitely better than the prison cots, better than the tent before that, and far better than the couches and car seats and decades-old lumpy mattresses of his old life.

"Really?" she asked. Her voice getting that tone, the one he’d rarely heard at the prison but was starting to hear daily now. The tone that said ‘I’m not just a little girl and I will call you on your shit.’

"I ain’t kiddin’," he replied, leaning back onto the pillow and resting his arm over his forehead. It was funny, really, dead people got better beds than the living, even now when the dead didn’t even sleep.

All he could hear was the silence in the room. The piano and the singing suddenly seemed not like an unnecessary addition but an essential part of the atmosphere.

"Why don’t’you go ahead ‘n play some more?" he asked, "keep singing?" His voice really had gotten soft. It was missing that edge that it always used to have, that he’s sure it would have again in an instant if he were to speak to anyone else.

She looked up at him, from the piano stool, “I thought my singing annoyed you,” she said.

It was getting a little too tense, a little too serious, and all he could think of was that stupid damn comment he made about her singing back in the shack. If he wasn’t such a pussy he would tell her that her singing is one of the few sounds that doesn’t annoy him anymore, but he wasn’t ready for a conversation like that, not yet.

"Ain’t no jukebox, so," he said instead.

And he thought he caught a slight smile on her face as she spun back around on the piano stool, picking up that unfamiliar song where she left off.

Daryl thought back to their earlier conversation, Beth asking him if he thought the make up on the bodies was beautiful. He didn’t. He thought it was weird and unnecessary and if whoever was doing it put more effort into securing the house than dressing up dead people, they wouldn’t be having half their food taken from them. But he did get it. He understood why Beth thought it was beautiful, because she didn’t see the problems with it, she just saw someone trying to make the world a little better.

But the truth was Daryl had seen a lot of nice things in the world, a lot of pretty things, a lot of sweet things, a lot of kind gestures and pleasant moments, but he’d only seen one thing he would describe as beautiful, and she was right there, playing the piano and singing to him while he lay in a coffin thinking about make up on dead bodies.

And he chewed his nail and ran his fingers through his hair and could think of nothing but how the casket was too far away and all he wanted to do was sit next to her on that piano stool and listen to her sing.

So without thinking, without letting himself consider his actions long enough to stop himself, he was pushing himself up and out of the casket and walking over to her.

She jumped as he sat on the stool next to her, her fingers stopping on the keys, her voice stopping as she turned to look at him, her eyes flashing on their legs, their thighs pressed together, the stool barely fitting both of them.

"Don’t stop," he said. His voice had hit new levels of softness. It was embarrassing, if anyone else could here them he would be turning bright red at the sound of his voice. Softness like that had no business coming out of a guy like him. She returned her eyes to the piano, her voice slightly wavering and slightly quieter despite their new proximity.

She was managing to capture all his attention. All he could see was Beth Greene, all he could hear was Beth Greene’s voice, all he could smell was the disgustingly perfect mix Beth Greene’s sweat and Beth Greene’s soap and all he could imagine was the taste of Beth Greene’s lips and the feel of Beth Greene’s soft, pale skin under his rough, calloused hands.

And again, he acted before thinking, just like he had when he’d jumped out of the casket, not considering his actions long enough to reconsider. He didn’t know if it was right, he figured it probably wasn’t, but his hand was on her chin, turning her face to meet his and he was kissing her. The taste of her lips was better than he could ever have imagined. Screw pigs feet and peanut butter and jelly and diet soda, this was his new favourite taste.

But she wasn’t kissing him back and a mess of notes was coming from the piano and that wasn’t how this was meant to go. He had misread the signs and fucked up and ruined everything and now he was pulling back and she was staring at him, wide eyed and open mouthed.

"Shit, I’m sorry," he said, "I shouldn’t’ve, I’m so fucking sorry I-"

"Don’t stop," she said.

This time he was caught off guard, because surely he’d misheard her, misinterpreted her. She couldn’t be saying what he thought she was.

"Don’t stop," she said again, slightly louder, more commanding, and he definitely hadn’t misheard that time. He wasn’t sure who had leaned in first but his mouth was on hers again, his left hand tangling in her hair while his right wrapped around her waist as much as it could on the awkward piano stool. And this time she was kissing him back, her head tilting opposite his, her hands wrapping around his neck and threading into his hair and leaving timid trails along his cheeks and jaw. They were frantic and aggressive and kissing with wet tongues and uncomfortable knockings of teeth and his hands were pulling her as close into him as they could, but it wasn’t close enough. A nervous breath left his lips as they parted from hers long enough to stand up and pull her up with him.

No longer having to fight the awkward angles of sitting side-by-side his lips began trailing down her neck, sucking and licking and leaving timid kisses along her jaw and neck and collar bones and shoulder. He could taste her skin, the taste of skin unwashed in days, and it was sweaty and salty and so _so_ hot. Somewhere along the way he had pushed her against a wall and now his body was flush against hers, her hands still tangled in his hair, his hands resting on her waist, fingers pressing into her as hard as they could through her grey wool cardigan.

Quiet moans were escaping her lips. Breathy and soft and _so damn hot_. So _perfectly_ Beth, seductive and innocent and hot and sweet all at the same time. The sort of moans he had never heard before, because when women moaned with him it had always been quick and dirty and grunts and screams, never light and gentle and laced so thick with pleasure. And he was the cause of them, and every moment he’d spent thinking of Beth and staring at Beth and imagining Beth like this, they were all nothing compared to being with her here and now.

Her hands left his hair, sliding down his back then pushing their way in between their bodies, fumbling with something in between them. He took a step back, his mouth leaving her skin so he could look down at what she was doing. Her hands were pulling on the large grey buttons on the beat up grey cardigan and suddenly Daryl was very aware of where this was going and who he was going there with and suddenly he was very very scared.

"Shit, Beth," he said, reaching his hands out to stop hers, "what’re we doin’?"

She looked up at him, their eyes meeting for the first time since just after the first kiss.

"Do you want me?" she asked. Her voice was steady but he could hear the nerves thick in her tone.

Her nodded, unsure  of whether it was the right answer but unable to lie to someone so honest.

"And I want you, so we’re doing what we want," she replied. And it made sense, it did, but he couldn’t help his reservations.

"You’re eighteen, Beth, you don’ know what you want."

And as soon as he said it he knew he shouldn’t have, because her hands were on her hips and her eyebrows were arched and he just knew, when she spoke, she was going to have that tone in her voice, that Beth tone, the tone that told him she wasn’t going to accept that comment.

"That’s bullshit, we’ve been surviving together for weeks now, you know I’m not a child, and you don’t get to say I am just because you’re scared." Yeah, that tone.

"I ain’t scared," he replied, remembering their fight outside the shack, remembering that she knew he was lying then, that she knew he was be lying now.

"Yeah, then why’d you stop?" she asked, and he could swear, even if it was just a fraction of an inch, she moved closer, putting them back in invading-each-other’s-personal-space territory.

“‘cause it’s inappropriate,” he said, his voice petulant. Even to his ears, he sounded more like the child in this conversation than she did.

"What’s inappropriate about two adults who like each other having sex?" she asked. There it was, she’d just said it. No going back from there now. _Having sex_

. He could feel his face burning up. Yeah, he was definitely not the mature one in this conversation.

He shrugged. She wasn’t supposed to know he liked her, that most of his thoughts were of her and the rest were of how best to protect her, how best to feed her, how best to keep her warm and keep her safe and get her back to their family. But she’d just said she liked him too, and that stirred something in him, made him want to kiss her and touch every part of her and push her against the wall and take her every way imaginable and made him want to run outside with his crossbow and guard the door til he couldn’t stay awake any longer and make sure nothing ever hurt her again.

Her hands left her hips and moved up to his face, her fingertips just touching his face, barely grazing the scruff of coarse hairs on his cheeks.

"Daryl, you don’t have to be scared," she said, her voice gentle again, "if you don’t want to be with me, I can be okay with that, but I’m not going to accept you rejecting me because of your damn hero complex."

She pushed herself onto her toes and pressed her lips against his ear.

"You’re allowed to have nice things, Mr. Dixon," she whispered, no, _growled_ into his ear before she pressed her lips firmly on his. His hands held her waist, her body leaning against him as her arms wrapped around his neck. This kiss was gentle, his lips working against hers with none of the panic and rush of before.

He pulled her bottom lip between his lips and sucked gently, revelling in the taste of her mouth. She moaned into him, his tongue taking the chance to trace her upper lip, nudging its way into her mouth.

He could feel her against him, her legs between his, her hips against his, her stomach against his, her chest against his. They were as close they could be through the four or five or six layers of clothing between them. This time, when her hands left his neck and made their way to the buttons on the cardigan, he didn’t stop her. And when she was finished with the cardigan and shrugging it off her shoulder, he didn’t stop her then either. He didn’t even stop her when her thumbs tucked under the edge of his leather, angel winged vest and pushed it off his shoulders, letting it fall to the ground behind him and quickly following with the denim shirt he was wearing underneath.

She took a small step back, their bodies separating and their lips parting. Her hands tentatively grabbed the bottom of her shirt, and in one swift motion Beth Greene was standing in front of him in a ratty old white cotton bra that looked more like grey against her pale skin. He felt his cheeks burning red again as she stepped back towards him, her shirt carelessly dropped to the ground as she began fiddling with the top button of his dirty plaid shirt.

"Are you wearing _another_ shirt under this one?” she asked, a wry smile on her face as she looked up at him.

He nodded shyly as she let out what he could only describe as the cutest laugh he’d ever heard. How was he supposed to know he would regret four layers? And when had cute become a part of his vocabulary? Probably about the same time Beth Greene had burned down his past and thrust her way into his future.

"So I’ve been freezing out there in two layers and you’ve been comfily traipsing about in four?" she asked, her eyebrow raised.

"If you were cold ya shoulda said," he said, far too quickly, "I thought you were okay in the cardigan, I’d’a given you a shirt, hell I’d’a given you two, you shoulda said somethin’" he said, concern flashing over his features.

"Daryl, I’m kidding," she said, leaning up to press a quick kiss to his lips before returning to the stubborn buttons on his plaid shirt.

Daryl probably should have helped out, but he was too busy thinking about Beth Greene joking about his clothes and Beth Greene removing his clothes and Beth Greene’s breasts, covered in nothing but a bra, brushing against his chest as she reached the last buttons on the bottom of the shirt.

He shrugged off the shirt and he could swear he saw Beth roll her eyes as she was faced with another button down.

"Fuck it," he said, grabbing the shirt on either side and pulling it away, the buttons popping off and revealing his naked torso. He shrugged that shirt off as well, and he and Beth were both stood shirtless in front of one another.

And the reaction he was expecting was certainly not Beth laughing.

"Sorry," she said, covering her mouth as giggles escaped between her fingers, "sorry, it’s just I’ve seen that in so many movies and it doesn’t happen in real life and you just did that."

"Did what?" he asked, unsure whether he should be amused or embarrassed and settling for confused.

"Rip your shirt off, you know," she said, motioning with her hands to imitate him, "it’s such a cliché rom-com move," she added, covering her mouth to laugh again.

Daryl shrugged, “never watched many rom-coms,” he muttered, before taking a step forward and fiddling with the buckle on her worn out belt.

Her laughter stopped.

He looked up at her, meeting her gaze, “we can stop,” he said, “just say the word, we’ll stop.”

"No," she replied, shaking her head and running her hands from his abdomen, up his chest, and settling over his shoulders, "keep going," she said, leaning up to press her lips to his again. This time it was her lips that lightly bit on his lower lip, and her tongue that poked its way into his mouth and really he was trying to concentrate on her pants but how could he concentrate on anything when all he could taste was Beth.

By some miracle, some divine intervention, which was a bit of a joke really because there was no way any god would be approving of this, he managed to unclasp her belt and undo the button on the top of her jeans, and she was starting to wiggle out of them and wiggling against him and all at once it was very important that they were both naked right now, because his dick was starting to hurt against his pants and Beth was still wearing her bra and jeans and none of that was okay in the slightest.

He pulled away from her kiss, grabbing each of his boots and ripping them off his feet before bending down to pull off Beth’s boots, taking care not to hurt her ankle in his impatience while she pushed her jeans down her legs and stepped out of them.

Beth was standing in front of him in nothing but a worn out bra and white, cotton panties.

He grabbed his belt, undoing it just enough to push his pants down his legs step out of them before closing the distance between him and Beth once more. He leant down to kiss her, no more calmness involved, back to impatient, rushing tongues and teeth and her hands were all over his chest and his back, skimming over scars that he knew she knew were already there. Part of him wanted to back away, run to the next room and fall asleep and wake up pretending this never happened, but he had more important things to focus on than scars from years ago. His father had ruined his life enough, he wasn’t ruining this moment too. So he moved his lips from hers and latched onto her neck, sucking and biting and kissing until he knew it would bruise, would turn red and purple and stay there for days to remind him of this moment, to remind him that the marks he leaves on people’s skin aren’t painful ones like the marks his father left, they’re marks of passion and lust and affection.

His hands moved up her back, fiddling with the clasp of her bra until it opened for him. She stepped back slightly, enough to allow her to shake off her bra but not enough to force Daryl’s mouth from her neck.

He moaned as she stepped back into him, pressing her self against him, nothing separating his coarse chest hair and her stiff nipples and only two thin pieces of fabric separating his erection from her cunt.

He kissed her neck one last time before stepping back slightly, then placing one arm under he knees and the other under her back he picked her up and gazed around the room, searching for the best spot to put her down. His crossbow was occupying the couch and fucking her on the floor seemed too rough, too casual for his first time with her. This was Beth Greene in his arms, she deserved a king size bed and rose petals and Barry White playing in the background. But they didn’t have beds or roses or Barry White, so a casket would have to do.

He lowered her onto the soft, white fabric and she bit her lip, looking up at him, still managing to maintain that sweet, Beth innocence despite her hard nipples and red lips and the darkening mark on her neck, and if that wasn’t the hottest thing he’d ever seen in his life.

He climbed on top of her, resting his weight on his elbows as he leant down to kiss her, grinding his hips against hers, each of them moaning into the others mouth.

They were back to slow and calm again, slow lips, molding against each other, slow tongues dancing around each others mouths.

He shifted his weight to his left elbow, his right hand sliding down to cup her breast. She gasped into his mouth as he pinched her nipple, then whined as his mouth left hers, leaving butterfly kisses down her neck and chest until he reached her other breast, taking it in his mouth and sucking on her nipple, nibbling at it, rolling it under his tongue and smirking as stuttered his name between shaky moans.

He moved his hand down her body, her soft skin forming goose bumps under his rough hands, until he reached the top of her panties.

"You sure?" he said, looking up at her for one final confirmation that this was okay.

"No," she said sarcastically, before looking back down at him and adding "yes I’m fucking sure Daryl now stop fucking about and do it."

"Language," he murmured, trying not to take too much pride in the fact he’d managed to make Beth Greene, perfect farmer’s daughter, yell ‘shit’ in anger and ‘fuck’ in lust.

He slipped his hands under her panties, his fingers gently grazing over her clit. She gasped as he did, her thighs clenching slightly and her back arching a little off the casket, her breasts pushing against him.

He continued to finger her clit, already wet, almost dripping for him.

Each moan sent a jolt down his spine straight to his dick and he wanted her, wanted her now, but more than that he wanted her to come by his fingers first. Come by his hand and have her moaning his name before he fucked her.

He shifted his hand, slipping two fingers into her warm, tight pussy, pubic hair tickling his hand as his fingers shifted inside of her, moving gently back and forth, his thumb rubbing circles on her clit.

He could feel her clenching and unclenching around him, her back arching, her eyes snapping shut, her hands balling into white-knuckled fists as she chanted his name as her whole body tensed then relaxed underneath him.

He shifted himself back up so his face was over hers, pressing his lips to hers, letting her ride it out. He could almost come himself just watching her.

But that would be no fun now would it?

"That was amazing," she said, opening her eyes to meet his.

He kissed her again, smiling into the kiss then he began pulling her panties down her legs.

"Again?" she asked, as he pushed his boxers down, finally exposing his erection.

He nodded, “if you wanna?”

She eagerly nodded back at him, lifting her head to kiss him as her lined himself up against her.

"This’ll hurt," he warned, threading his fingers through hers above her head and meeting her eyes as he slowly pushed himself into her. God, she was tight. He didn’t think he’d ever been with anyone this tight, but he hadn’t been with anyone this young in at least fifteen years and he didn’t know if he’d ever been with anyone this inexperienced.

She hissed slightly, her eyes snapping shut.

He leant down, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips and squeezing her hand in his, not daring to move, just allowing them to get used to their new positions.

"You okay?" he asked, as she opened her eyes and locked his gaze on hers. He waited, watching until the pain left her face and she moved underneath him, just a little but enough to tell him that they were okay.

She bit her lip and nodded, “think so,” she said.

He began to pull out, thrusting back in, slowly at first but increasing his pace with each thrust, his eyes still locked on hers as she let out breathy moans and he let out harsh grunts with the occasional ‘Beth’ or ‘Daryl’ mixed in.

"Fuck," he moaned, that familiar feeling he hadn’t felt in too long building up in his gut. He could feel her starting to clench around him, tensing then relaxing then tensing again, and he could feel the moment she went over the edge, hear it in her moan as she let out a final, loud ‘Daryl’ and her eyes closed and her mouth opened and her body arched against his.

And he pulled out of her just in time to come on her, sticky white liquid spilling down her thighs and her name spilling out of his mouth. It wasn’t exactly clean, and a condom would be far more sensible than coming on her legs and hoping for the best, but seeing Beth, boneless with her wet panties halfway down her legs and his come messily spilt over her thighs, was worth the risk.

He slumped down beside her, pulling her onto his chest, their legs tangling together and her arm draping lazily over him. They should probably find a wet rag, something to clean up the mess, but he couldn’t find the will to push her off of him and clean them up. They’d regret the sticky mess in the morning, and he figured she, at least, would regret a lot more than that, but all he wanted to do was fall asleep with Beth in his arms.

"Daryl," she said, looking up at him through sleepy eyes, "I don’t regret this, not one bit," she said, as though reading his mind.

Then she relaxed her head back against him, closing her eyes.

He should probably have stayed awake, on guard, just in case. Should have at least pulled on some pants and a shirt and made her do the same, just in case of an emergency. Maybe moved his crossbow to right next to them or grabbed a knife at least. But the place was nailed up tight and the only way in was through the font door and he had just had sex with Beth Greene and even if he wanted to, he didn’t think he could stay awake if he tried.


End file.
